This Time Around
by Zambini Honey
Summary: Alternative Reality fic., takes place at the end of book 7 during the battle of Hogwarts. Harry Potter is killed during the final battle against The Dark Lord, Ginny is sent back in time without her knowledge or consent to change the outcome. Haunted by her past and terrified by her future, will 16 year old Ginny be able to stay focused on the task at hand and save the world?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I am not and have never been J.K. Rowling. I can only attempt to embellish the world that she has already skillfully created. I hope that what I have built upon her foundation is amusing or otherwise entertaining. I apologise in advance if I make any factual inaccuracies and I hope that you, dear reader, will review this story to let me know if and when I do so that I can correct my errors! Last, but not least - Thank you for reading!_

.:.

 **"AVADA KEDAVRA!"**

Everything was silent. For one complete moment the noise and the chaos was suspended. It was as if, for an instant, the world had stopped spinning.

Then, suddenly - an explosion hit her body with full force and knocked her off her feet. She felt the blistering heat wash over her, felt the sting of glass and shrapnel burrowing into her skin. The blinding light burned orange through her eyelids and seared through her. It was only moments between the stillness, and the instant fire that descended upon her relentlessly, suffocating her.

She tried to call his name - tried to scream. Her throat burned and lungs ached for the air that she couldn't seem to find. Blind and deaf from the explosion, she screamed silently, clawing at the rubble around her to find something, but here was only glass - glass and blood.

The year was 1998. The Dark Lord was once again in power, and the wizarding world lived in fear.  
Life had become static. The world as it had been known for centuries had, seemingly overnight, ceased to exist. Cobblestone streets once bustling with community were now decaying; skeletons of war. The schools once teeming with bright young witches and wizards sat empty. Society crumbled to a fragment of what it once had been.

It was shortly after midnight on the second of May when the battle of Hogwarts commenced.  
Harry Potter, the boy who lived, faced Lord Voldemort in a final duel to determine the fate of the world.

When the irrevocable words were at long last uttered, thousands of spectators stopped and turned to witness their fate.

 **"AVADA KEDAVRA!"**

A blinding green light spat out from the wand of the Dark Lord and streaked across the sky to land triumphantly on the chest of Harry James Potter.  
Bodies were flung backwards in the heat of the explosion that followed. Brick, glass, and shrapnel flew in every direction, tearing apart bodies and spraying the landscape with the smell of death.  
For a moment, nothing happened and no one moved - No one but an inconsequential grey tabby cat darting through the rubble to reach a small crumpled heap that fell closest to the explosion. The heap lurched up - It was a girl, or at least the shadow of what once was.

Her eyes opened, unfocused, as her blackened fingers wildly searching through the broken glass and ash on the ground, reaching for someone - anyone.

The tabby cat shuddered and expanded, it's dishevelled fur molting to make room for a dark velvet cloak. Moments later a woman was kneeling in it's place, her grey hair flying in several directions. Ash and dirt were collecting in the creases of her tearstained face. She looked worriedly ahead of her towards the flaming wreckage, and then back at the young witch in front of her who was sputtering and gasping, her open-mouth screams only as loud as a whisper in the mayhem.

The older witch reached out to grasp the young girl, who lurched back at the feeling of her velvet cloak. The weakened teenager shivered and shook under her grasp as the shock set in, but there wasn't enough time for the woman to be concerned with that. The older witch whipped out her wand and with a swish of her wrist, Minerva McGonagall and Ginny Weasley disapparated from the rubble where Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry once stood.

.:.

 _Author's Note: That's it for now! It was a short first chapter, but I can assure you that the rest will be longer. Please consider reviewing to let me know what you think. All constructive feedback is welcomed and appreciated!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: I am not, have never been, and will never be J. K. Rowling I can only attempt to embellish the world she has already created._

 _Thank you to the individuals that are following my story. I have put a lot of time and effort into getting it as close to perfect as possible, and knowing that someone is actually reading it makes me heart swell with joy! Please consider reviewing with any feedback or criticism you can muster. Enjoy!_

 **.:.**

The body of Ginny Wealsey lay motionless on a small cot in the corner of a dark room. A modest window was boarded up on the wall opposite her bed. The wallpaper around the bed was shredded and stained in large brown patches. A thick layer of dust sat stubbornly upon the rickety tables and an out-of-date couch. Dimly lit candles illuminated the faces of two women standing beside the bed.

"Poppy," the first woman said in a hushed tone, "Are you sure she'll wake?"

Poppy Pomfry looked up at the woman beside her, seeing her own pale reflection in the darkness of her colleague's eyes.

"Yes, Minerva." Poppy said after a long pause. "I gave her a powerful sleeping draught when she came in. A potion as strong as that can take several days to wear off."

Minerva glanced worriedly towards Poppy, swallowing hard and glancing down again at the girl beneath them.  
"We don't have that long." She said, before quietly asking: "Will she be… alright?"

Poppy took a deep breath and sighed while carefully choosing her next words.  
"Alright is relative at a time like this," she said as she leaned forward and placed a cool hand upon the young witch's wrist, "Her heartbeat is slow, but possibly because she is still heavily under the effects of the draught. I've applied what little salve I have left, and used the last of my defracture potion for her shoulder, but with such limited supplies…Well, when she wakes she will be alive, but hardly. Not to mention the psychological ramifications of watching her entire family-"

Their conversation ended abruptly at the muffled sound of an explosion several kilometres away.

Poppy pulled her wand out of her robe and dimmed the candles further, casting a dark and ominous glow throughout the room. Her hand was visibly shaking as she tucked her wand back into her pocket.

"Do you think they know we're in here?" She asked quietly, panicked eyes glued to the battered boards upon the window, and the lacklustre sheets pinned above them.

"We don't have time to wait," Minerva said, "They may very well be headed our way now. We need to wake her immediately."

Poppy shook her head sombrely. "I can't, Minerva."

"We must," The professor replied, "We simply must. I know it's not fair to her. I had hoped there would be more time. Time for her to rest and recover, time to prepare her... but we need to act now while we still have a chance to-"

"Minerva," Poppy interrupted, "I don't mean that I won't. I mean that I _can't_." She indicated towards the empty bottles of tinctures and potions on the nightstand beside them. "Under any other circumstances… And with access to the necessary ingredients it would be no problem, but now…" She motioned helplessly towards Ginny's paralysed body.

Another loud explosion erupted into the night, this time close enough to shake the structure of the shack they were occupying.

"We have to move quickly," Minerva said with conviction, "We don't have time to wait." She whipped out her wand and conjured a piece of parchment and a quill. She bustled around the room, dust puffing up around her in clouds, and reached deep into the chewed-up chesterfield to grab a pouch that was nestled inside.

Poppy watched her, nervously wringing her hands. "You don't mean now, do you?" She asked, but the question hung limp from her lips as though she already knew the answer. "She'll have no idea where she is. She won't know what happened. Besides, has anyone attempted to go this far back before? _We don't even know if this will work_!"

Minerva hurriedly marched back to the bed and shook out the contents of the bag; A handful of gold galleons, silver sickles, and brass knuts clinked as they fell upon an old wool blanket. She sat softly on a bottom corner of the cot, which creaked loudly in complaint, and poised her quill above the parchment.

"Minerva, you can't." Poppy declared, reaching to grab the wrist of the witch sitting before her.

Another explosion clapped loudly, this time lighting up the room through cracks in the walls. The shack wobbled slightly, and the muffled sounds of voices in the distance became audible.

"You can't." Poppy croaked again, this time her words barely louder than a whisper. She knew her protest was in vain.

Minerva's hand was racing across the parchment, careful not to smudge the still-wet ink. It was now, watching her colleague hunched over in the darkness, that Poppy saw with clarity how the war had aged her. Her hands once soft and plump in their youth had now been replaced with an old woman's hands; with veins like mountains pulled taut over a landscape of sagging flesh. These hands, these calloused fingers and hardened nails, seemed suddenly symbolic of the toll these years of turmoil had taken.

Poppy reached for her colleague, shaking, and cupped Minerva's hand in both of hers. She thought for a moment that it felt like holding a dying bird. Minerva looked up at Poppy, tears springing to her eyes. The quill fell from her hand and clattered as it hit the floor.

"You've been a good friend all these years." Poppy said, her voice cracking as she choked back tears.

"Now is no time for goodbyes," Minerva said, squeezing Poppy's hands in her bony fist, "Not yet."

She stood, folding the parchment and tucking it into the little pouch on the bed. She scooped up the last of her coins and placed them with it. She crouched before Ginny's static body and gently lifted the girl's hand to touch the pouch while she mumbled a short incantation.  
Minerva placed Ginny's hand back on the bed and tested the strength of her charm by pulling on the lip of the pocket sized sack. She tugged on each corner until she was satisfied that the bag would no longer open. Then, with great effort, she peeled back the bandages on young Ginny Weasley's chest and tucked the pouch inside.

From within the deepest pocket of her robe she materialised a golden necklace. She held it up in the faint light and inspected the pendant that hung from the centre. Several gold hoops encased a tiny hourglass filled with glittering sand.

Another explosion suddenly rocked the walls around them, and loud voices were drawing nearer.

" _The shrieking shack! The shrieking shack_!" a high-pitched and nasally voice sang in the distance, unmistakably the terrorising and deadly Bellatrix Lestrange.

Minerva grasped the pendant firmly and turned it with great momentum.

"Put the chain around her neck, Poppy." Minerva demanded. Poppy fumbled as she unclasped the chain and placed it around the teenager's slender throat.

The shrieking and yelping outside was no longer in the distance. Voices were closing in around them, and the lights of several illuminated wands ricocheted in through the decaying walls.

" _I smell a stowaway, I smell a stowaway_!" Bellatrix sang before cackling loudly, her nails-on-chalkboard laughter penetrating their illusion of safety.

"Minerva - Minerva!" Poppy wailed, tugging at the professor's cloak. Minerva remained transfixed upon the pendant in her hands as she turned the hourglass and breathlessly counted along.

"Minerva - Your cloak, your cloak!"

" _Well, well, well - What do we have here_?" Bellatrix's voice cut through the door and permeated the room like the smell of rotten meat.

"Minerva!" Poppy exclaimed, tears streaming down her face, as she ripped the cloak off of the older witch. "Please, she's _naked_!" Poppy threw the cloak atop Ginny's body, her quivering hands working to tie it firmly in place over her shoulders.

Minerva looked up, shocked, her eyes settling on the cloak, the pale skin of Ginny's unconscious body, and at the sand of the hourglass glinting in her hand.

She set the pendant down upon the young girl's chest, tucking it into her bandages alongside the pouch of coins. As she did, the pendant began to turn. As the turning accelerated a deafening detonation rocked the shack and knocked both Poppy and Minerva off of their feet.

As Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into the shrieking shack a roar of static electricity engulfed the room and all of it's occupants were bathed in a brilliant flood of white light.

.:.

 _Thank you so much for reading! If you have anything to say (and the time to say it!) please consider reviewing. I would love to hear your comments, criticism, and feedback!_  
 _Until next time,_  
 _-Z_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I am not and will never be JK Rowling!_

 **.:.**

It was in the early hours of the morning that Archie Ferguson was walking home from the Hog's Head Inn where he had consumed many pints of strong Butterbeer the evening before.

After his usual night-long excursions Archie always opted to take the long way home - a winding gravel path that zig-zagged past gardens overrun with weeds, and hens that clucked resentfully as they scrambled out of his way. He took this particularly drawn-out path because he knew that the moment he walked through his front door all hell would break loose.

Mrs. Ferguson had grown hard over the years. With four children to feed and a her sick mother to care for she had become a constant source of anxiety for Archie. His drinking habit did nothing to appease her, but it was how he coped with the persistent stresses of day-to-day life. He knew without a doubt that he would be met on this particular morning by an exceptionally irate Mrs. Ferguson, and he was content procrastinating as long as possible.

Archie was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost didn't notice the path ending abruptly in front of him. Stifling his worry over his impending arrival at home, Archie surveyed the landscape for an alternative route. Although he was glad to stave off an argument it was indisputably chilly and his jacket was worn thin.

He thought to himself that a hot cup of tea would do him well. If he was lucky, Mrs. Ferguson might still be in bed and he could sneak in next to her. The roosters had not yet crowed, and if he was quiet enough he might even be able to pretend he'd made it home before sunrise.

With a newfound sense of urgency, Archie cut through a meadow next to the path and headed towards his humble bungalow. He and his family had lived in the same house for nearly three decades, and he knew the surrounding lands well enough to navigate them during the darkest night without as much as a faint illumination charm.  
Although he had spent a fair amount of time wandering these winding paths on many a brisk morning, Archie had never meandered through this specific meadow.

As Archie trudged through the waist-high grass he noticed that it was weighted with dew drops that glistened afront the premature sunrise. In more than one place the dew had frozen into a thin layer of frost that sparkled effortlessly as it swayed in the wind.

Perhaps it was that last pint of butterbeer, or perhaps it was the eerie morning light, but something about this _particular_ meadow in this _particular_ moment took Archie Ferguson's breath away.

He stopped for a moment to watch the sunrise, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Taking a deep breath in, Archie thought about his life. Raising four children on a broom-maker's salary had been challenging. When Mrs. Ferguson's mother had fallen ill they had no choice but to make room for her in their small abode. It was an unexpected additional strain on their resources, and his relationship with his wife had never recovered.

Looking out at the lush grass that still glowed green under the first frost, Archie realized that despite the burden he made his family out to be he was still truly quite happy.

As he admired the sun beginning to peek out through the slender blades of grass, tears welled behind his eyes. He sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve and rubbing his palms together to stay warm.

He gazed around the meadow one last time, deciding to take Mrs. Ferguson here for a stroll during the next sunny afternoon. It was then, as he surveyed his surrounding with scrutiny, that he saw it. A body. His blood ran cold as he rubbed his eyes and realized, horrified, that it was not a trick of the light.

The body was grotesque. White, like a ghost - and distorted. It's limbs were twisted as though it had been thrown to the ground from a great height - though there was no great height to fall from.

Archie waded through the grass towards the corpse, transfixed by its pale wet skin glistening in the still grey light. He felt his palms sweating and his heart pounding in his chest. He was, quite suddenly, sober.

It was a girl. She looked young - possibly in her mid-teens. She had long bright auburn hair, not unlike Archie's own daughter who was now grown and married with a family of her own.  
The majority of the girl's body was wrapped in bandages stained with blood and dirt, but the rest of her was naked. A tattered velvet robe was tied to her neck and tangled around her legs.

Archie stared in disbelief at her face. It was scratched and bruised beyond recognition. Her lip was split down the middle and her chin and cheeks were stained dark red with dried blood.

Archie gagged when he saw that her fingers were burnt dark black and cracked where dead skin had flaked off. Trembling, he felt compelled to kneel beside her porcelain face and reached out as if he were about to stroke her cheek. Her eyelashes were glued shut with frost, but it had been a cold night and it was possible that she was left here in the cover of dark only hours before Archie stumbled past.

He was disgusted, panicked, _sickened_ by the lifeless child before him, and yet he couldn't look away. With his hand hovering above her skin, he remained transfixed. He couldn't help but imagine how painful and terrifying the last moments of her life must have been. She would have been confused. She might have begged for her life. Who could do a thing like this to such an innocent creature? He suddenly felt worried for the safety of his wife and mother-in-law, sleeping soundly in their cots without the faintest idea of his harrowing discovery.

He wondered with a pang of guilt where her family was. Were they worried? Did they know yet that she was gone? Who were the people lighting candles for her and holding their breath waiting for her safe return? What promises were they making to Merlin in exchange for their child's safe passage home?

A small puff of steam rose from her mouth; Hot breath visible in the frosty air. It was so small and ghostly that if he'd blinked he would have missed it.

Archie's heart sunk in his chest as he realized, overcome with hideous sympathy, that she was still alive.

 **.:.**

 _Thank you for taking the time to read my story, and I hope that you will consider reviewing!_


End file.
